


Bros Before Ho(bbit)s

by meh_guh



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-05 06:38:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1090784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meh_guh/pseuds/meh_guh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dwarves are being especially odd recently.</p><p>Luckily Master Bofur seems not to have caught the fever running through the Company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a hobbitkink prompt found here: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3651.html?view=7188291#t7188291 where I accidentally posted anon and then forgot about it, sorry!

The first Bilbo knows of it is the gargling-glass sound of Bifur addressing him in Khuzdul. He smiles and nods to the dwarf, hoping it was some small pleasantry, but Bifur's glare and snort seem to indicate otherwise as he turns his back and stalks off.

There's no one within hearing range to ask about it, so Bilbo turns his attention back to his bedroll. Perhaps _tonight_ he'll manage to avoid any vicious pinecones or kidney-attacking rocks. When he's finally got his blankets arranged to his satisfaction, Bilbo turns and has to supress a shriek.

'You've no clue, have you?' Dwalin grumbles from _entirely too close, thank you!_ Bilbo waits a moment for his heart to calm down, but apparently all Dwalin is intending to do is stare at him.

'Not... at present,' he edges around Dwalin's bulk, more confused than intimidated. 'Would you care to enlighten me?'

Dwalin rolls his eyes, mutters something about councils, and stomps off towards his brother. They confer, heads bowed together, then Balin shoots Bilbo a sorrowful stare.

After a moment of perplexed blinking, Bilbo decides to write it off as dwarvish madness, and goes to see about helping Bombur with the dinner.

****

Bilbo has to admit that the weeks they've been on this adventure have given him an appreciation for dwarves he would never have imagined. Fili and Kili remind him of his young cousins back home; they inspire the same mix of irritation, amusement, and dread with their horseplay and pranks. Bombur could almost be a hobbit with his (right and proper) appreciation of food. Ori's nervous youth sparks something protective in Bilbo's chest, and it's almost a relief to worry about someone else.

Thorin and most of the older dwarves remain aloof, clearly still tolerating Bilbo rather than accepting him.

But then there's Bofur, and Bilbo can't help the smile even that name inspires. Sarcastic, pranking, endlessly kind Bofur, who seems to know exactly when Bilbo is getting close to screaming and intervenes with a story or a merry tune.

Bofur, who seems suddenly to be the only one not gone mad with whatever secretive lunacy has grabbed the Company. Bilbo is almost wild with curiosity over the new tendency of the dwarves to huddle in groups of four, whispering madly and falling silent whenever they notice Bilbo watching them.

After a day, Bilbo thinks he's worked out the _method_ if not the _reason_ for the division. Bifur, Bomur and Balin will drag Ori into conference, whereas Dwalin will stalk through the camp and seize Gloin and Oin, then Thorin will follow with great dignity. Nori will occasionally follow Thorin, and Dori sometimes joins Balin, but Bofur, Fili and Kili are always left out.

It _has_ to be some sort of political manoeuvre, Bilbo thinks, he just can't see any reason for it.

'Well, we wouldn't be split,' Fili says when Bilbo asks him if he knows why the others keep running off. 'And they'd already reached the numbers for the Councils.'

Bilbo can hear the capital letter, and really wants to ask more, but Bofur appears at his side with a bowl of stew and a sidelong grin.

'Master Baggins,' Bofur passes him the bowl, quirking an eyebrow. 'Mustn't let our burglar waste away, eh?'

Fili shares a knowing glance with Kili, and some other time Bilbo will ask him about it, but for now he has hot stew and Bofur's good company.

****

The passage through the goblin halls is dreadful, and Bilbo resents the fact that he didn't even get respite before the wargs and Azog attacked.

He'd never meant to challenge an orc; even the memory makes his knees weak and his stomach turn, but the outcome had been utterly satisfactory. Even the most staid and conservative Baggins part of Bilbo agreed that he had done the right thing.

He wouldn't wish to do it _again_ , mind, but at the time...

Bilbo glances across the eyrie at the twin knots of dwarves, crouched almost on top of each other at this great and crowded height. Once again, Bofur is excluded, dangling his feet over the farthest edge from the councils and puffing away at a pipe.

Bilbo clambers to his feet, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders against the vicious wind and shuffles over to Bofur.

'Have you some pipeweed to spare?' he whispers, trying not to think about the dizzying depths at his toes.

Bofur gives him a kind smile and holds out a pouch. 'It's no grand blend, but you're welcome to what you want.'

Bilbo takes the pouch gratefully. He ran out of Old Toby well before they left Rivendell, and even dried grass would be a relief after their recent ordeal.

'Thank you kindly, Master Bofur,' Bilbo inclines his head even as he settles down on the precipice. 'I am most grateful.'

Bofur grins and leans back on his hands. He blows a series of smoke rings, and they are so wonky and thin that Bilbo feels brazen enough to send his own skywards. The pipeweed is a little bitter for Bilbo's taste, and perhaps a touch too dry, but it tastes comforting in this strange place with ten dwarves conspiring for some reason at their backs. Bilbo can't help but feel comfortable with his lungs full of smoke and Bofur at his side.

This adventure was not such a bad idea after all.

****

The flight down to the Carrock is terrifying, and Bilbo has to make himself picture Bofur's twinkling eyes and generosity to keep from shrieking when the Eagles bank and swoop down. His stomach turns and he is _certain_ that he will pitch off into the rushing water so many yards below...

They are deposited on the broad, dry rock unharmed, and Bilbo blushes at the panic he'd worked himself into.

He has to take a moment to breathe deeply and drum his toes against the solid ground to make his heartbeat slow to normal.

'Never again,' Bofur murmurs, a smile in his voice as he steps up beside Bilbo. 'This Dwarf is keeping his feet firmly on or under the ground forever more.'

Bilbo laughs, the sound a little thready with unshed nerves. 'I could not agree more, Master Bofur. I feel I've had ten years of my life blown away in the wind.'

'I surely hope not,' Bofur smiles and glances back at the rest of the Company. 'Come, Master Baggins. I believe we're to move on, if your nerves are sufficiently recovered.'

Bilbo stares after the retreating forms of the Eagles and shivers. 'Certainly, Master Bofur. The worst is surely behind us, after all?'


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so I wrote this while drunk in an hour, so I may come back and redo things. But maybe not. Props to i-is-a-freak for making me Do The Thing, and comments always welcome :D

Bilbo is certain his nerves will never recover after the flight through the garden and into the cabin; doubly so when Gandalf reveals the character of their host. It takes a full hour of Bilbo checking and re-checking the windows before he feels calm enough to set out his bedroll, and another half an hour of re-re-checking before Master Bofur bodily drags him away from his attempt to squint at the rafters.

'Didn't you Ma ever tell you squinting was going to send you blind?' Bofur asks, dimples turning his friendly countenance irresistible.

'She had different ideas what would send me blind,' Bilbo replies without thinking, then feels himself flush crimson. Of _all_ the inappropriate things to say to a friend-

Bofur laughs, throwing his head back and clutching at his stomach, legs kicking and drawing the attention of the Company. Bilbo glances around, and yes. The division of the dwarves is the same as every other time they've split and snuck off.

Bilbo harrumphs and turns his attention to making sure his bedroll is perfectly aligned with the next one over. He's certainly not focussing on the fact that it's _Bofur's_ bedroll six inches away from his own, not with Dwalin on his other side and a monstrous beast prowling the cabin and who knows how many orcs sneaking around.

Bilbo shivers and Bofur throws an unexpected blanket around Bilbo's shoulders.

'Can't have our burglar catching cold and alerting the dragon with a sniffle, can we?' Bofur grins when Bilbo turns a questioning gaze on him. 'Stealth and subtlety, Master Baggins. Be a mite tricky if you're sneezing and hiccoughing and miserable.'

There's a derisive “Ha!” from across the room; when Bilbo glares over it's Gandalf and the older dwarves, all smoking pipes and drying their feet at the hearth. Bilbo tilts his chin up and is at least rewarded with Gandalf smirking and nodding.

'I thank you-' Bilbo starts, intending on ignoring the sourpusses and rendering a proper acceptance of Bofur's generosity, but when he turns back Bofur is scarlet across the cheeks and his eyes are downcast. Bilbo slips the two steps over so he can place a hand on Bofur's shoulder. 'Bofur?'

'I'm sorry, lad,' Bofur brushes Bilbo's hand off and smiles at the wall to the left of Bilbo's head, assiduously avoiding eye contact. 'I should never have let this go on so long.'

Bilbo studies Bofur's melancholy face; traces the lines that weren't there a moment ago with his eyes. Then he looks up and notes the two groups of dwarves. Bombur and his cohort by the cooking pot, and Thorin and _his_ beside Gandalf. Everyone's attention is on Bilbo and Bofur, though the older dwarves are pretending at disinterest.

As though a _Baggins_ can't tell when the gossips are interested!

Bilbo turns back to Bofur, who looks like he'd rather be back in the goblin lair than in front of Bilbo here and now.

'Bofur,' Bilbo affects as serious a frown as he can. 'Why is the Company divided?'

Bofur's shoulders slump and there's the faint sound of someone restraining Bifur. Bilbo makes himself not react, though it takes every ounce of his gentlehobbit breeding.

'...they formed Councils,' Bofur says eventually, defeat in every line of his form. 'I'm sorry, lad, I should've put a stop to this weeks ago.'

Bilbo takes a deep breath and folds his arms. 'What sort of councils, Master Bofur? Haven't we enough to be going on with trying to reach Erebor before Durin's Day?'

Bofur laughs, and it's such a ragged sound Bilbo very nearly breaks. 'Aye, much better things to be thinking on. Don't know what was in the water to get them so riled up-'

Bilbo throws gentility to the wind for once and steps up close to stare up into Bofur's lovely eyes. 'I don't know how dwarves handle this sort of thing,' he says breathlessly clasping at Bofur's rough hands and bringing them up to his chest. 'But this is pretty much the opposite of how hobbits do it.'

Bofur's mouth falls open and his breath catches in a most flattering way. 'Do what, Bilbo?'

Bilbo toys with the loose threads at the edge of Bofur's gloves. 'Hobbits tend to do their courting in private. Certainly nothing as formal as this seems to be.'

Bofur is silent for so long that Bilbo starts to doubt his conclusions. Humiliated, he steps back, turning to hide his flaming face from the rest of the Company. Perhaps if he reasserts his gentlehobbit walls and proprieties the teasing will die down quickly; their proximity to Erebor and their ultimate goal will surely dull the worst of the dwarves' cruelty-

Bilbo finds himself arrested by a broad hand closed around the tattered elbow of what used to be his best rambling jacket. It takes everything he can muster to drag his eyes up to look at Bofur's face, but the overwhelming joy he sees there is more than worth the effort.

'Dwarves find but one love their whole lives,' Bofur says quietly, grin wide enough to make Bilbo's face ache in sympathy. 'And the cruellest part of it is there's no guarantee it'll be requited.'

It's Bilbo's turn to drop his jaw; the appalling unfairness of the idea forming a stone in his belly.

'No,' Bofur shakes his head. 'I'm not laying claim to you for life. But the mere chance of you for as long as you'll give me is enough-'

'I love you,' Bilbo blurts out, too loud in the silent room. He's rewarded with the hooting laughs of the younger three dwarves, the knowing chuckles of most of the rest and Thorin's derisive snort. Bilbo straightens his shoulders and turns his full attention back to Bofur. 'We hobbits may not be bound for life by design, but I assure you a Baggins does not easily change his mind. And Tooks are twice as stubborn, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me.'

Bofur still looks uncertain, so Bilbo utters a curse under his breath and throws himself forward, trusting Bofur to catch him. The kiss is a little awkward, and rather more bristly than Bilbo is used to, but the sense of rightness is irrefutable.

Bilbo dots a series of lighter kisses along the seam of Bofur's lips, then smirks down at him. 'Do we need the councils for the next stage, or can we find somewhere private?'

The speed with which Bofur drags Bilbo out of the main hall might be the most gratifying thing to happen since Bilbo sat down for his interrupted supper all those weeks ago.

Until what happens when they find a bedroom, anyway.


End file.
